


Good Person

by flyingfrisbie



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Angst, Between Episodes, Fluff, M/M, POV Patrick Brewer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28881273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingfrisbie/pseuds/flyingfrisbie
Summary: Patrick Brewer's life is in need of a change, and drastic action is about to be taken.This will cover Patrick's life immediately before moving to Schitt's Creek, as well as between episodes.  David Rose hasn't showed up yet, but he will soon.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 7
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

“I can’t wait for tonight!!”

Patrick had felt a line of dominoes building up for years, one after another placed precariously in sequence, always threatening to come tumbling down, collapsing, leaving a scrambled mess. Rachel’s text was certainly not the first of those dominoes, wobbling slightly, preparing to fall, but Patrick worried that it could be the last. His life seemed to be closing in around, threatening to trap him under the weight of obligation.

  
First, there was the promotion offer at the bank. Patrick had been with the bank for six years, steadily building rapport with the business community, developing ties that ultimately benefited the bank, but he liked to believe he was helping the businesses just as much. The promotion was what he should want. With his bigger paycheck, he would be able to afford a house and finally be out of the tiny apartment sandwiched between an elderly couple who could never find their hearing aids and two college kids with aspirations of DJing.

  
But why did the money feel like a chain? Why did the thought of a house with Rachel fill him with such utter panic?

  
Then there was Matty’s Facebook post. Patrick’s best friend from high school had just had his first baby with his wife. Patrick typically ignored social media for this very reason, glaring reminders of his past and everything that was missing. They had been inseparable in high school, Matty’n’Patty. They had worked at the video store together, spent summers being stupid together. Then it ended. College, jobs, commitments, shackles, more dominoes to keep balanced. They had drifted apart and aside from cursory exchanges online, never really spoke again.

  
Seeing a person he had cared deeply for years ago, looking so happy with someone Patrick had never met caused his stomach to churn. He hurt, jealousy and heartbreak rattling around his exhausted mind. As he scrolled through the pictures of the new family, cherubic baby and proud papa, the question clarified. Was Patrick jealous of Matty’s life because he wanted that, a wife and baby, or was he jealous Matt finally became a dad with someone not Patrick?

  
Patrick quickly closed out of Facebook as his face burned, head shaking as he attempted to jar those questions from his mind. He dug through his desk drawer for some antacid to calm the storm in his stomach when his phone buzzed again. The last buzz had dredged up entirely more than he was prepared for. He knew he should ignore this one.

  
Email from his mom. “Did you see Matty’s precious little bundle?”

  
It wasn’t explicitly there, but Patrick could feel it, the gravity of the blank spaces in his mother’s message, unseen and unspoken. His parents had never pressured him for grandchildren, but the weight of obligation was always there, especially as more of Patrick’s classmates started having kids of their own. They never asked when he and Rachel were going to finally set a date. They never asked why he had drifted apart from his high school friends. Patrick had lain awake at nights, worrying he would be crushed under all that had remained unasked.

  
He couldn’t respond to his mother’s email before Rachel’s text buzzed through. “I can’t wait for tonight!”

  
That exclamation point. All of her excitement, dreams, and aspirations, both for the date they are supposed to have tonight and the life she wanted with him, all rolled up into one piece of punctuation. It glared at him, an inverted Eye of Sauron, seeing all.

  
Patrick closed his phone again, shoving it into his pocket and rising from his desk. He can’t be here anymore. He quickly walks through the consulting department to a stairway that empties onto a small patio next to staff parking where some people take their breaks.

  
Just a quick lap around the block. The fresh air, sound of traffic, other people busily going about their business, all of it would clear out the image of that exclamation point. After the third lap without feeling any better, Patrick stops at the coffee shop three doors down, getting his normal tea and an out of the ordinary splurge in the form of a giant muffin, because carbs can cure anything.

  
He takes a seat in the bustling shop, the white noise of other conversations and the milk steamers finally drowning out his speeding thoughts. The pleasant fullness of his belly from the muffin certainly doesn’t hurt the calm finally settling over him.

  
Patrick takes his phone out of his pocket, knowing he can’t ignore it forever, even though any placations to his mother or fiancée are ultimately attempts to ignore everything else. His thumb hovers over three different apps, making a small triangle as he debates which to tackle first. Congratulate Matty, confirm to his mother that the baby is indeed beautiful, relay his excitement for date night.

  
His thumb finds LinkedIn instead. He goes over his resume, knowing it hasn’t changed and aside from a potential manager title being added, it isn’t likely to change drastically. Ever.

  
On a whim, he pulls up the list of searches he has appeared in over the past week. The first is from a Ray Butani Enterprises. Patrick has never heard of this place, and he has been keeping tabs on who is stalking his resume for months. Typically, it’s other banks, a lateral move that would have no fundamental impact on his life, aside from where he goes every weekday. More dominoes just as likely to topple.

  
Ray Butani Enterprises looks like a small outfit, looking for a business consultant in a very rural area. That’s why Patrick has never heard of it, it’s practically the wilderness, so far removed from Toronto. Patrick finds Ray’s website, seeing immediately that this man has his fingers in a lot of pots. The page is dominated by a variety of pictures, homes, businesses, a butterfly. It looks like Ray works in real estate, photography, and business consulting. There is a link for closet organization, but it doesn’t look live. Is it a new venture, or one that is no longer offered? He was even a town councilor until recently. Schitt’s Creek. Surely that’s a joke.

  
Patrick watches the pictures scroll past. A butterfly alighting on a purple flower. A general store available for lease. A cabin deep set in the woods. An engagement photo of a young couple, incongruously holding baseball bats. A quiet street lined with trees and charming homes.

  
With the surreal sensation of watching his fingers type without perceiving what is being written, Patrick is emailing Ray, asking what sort of job he was searching for applicants for. He doesn’t do this, ask about jobs that he just learned about while on shift. He should just delete the message and get back to the bank. Feeling like he’s taking charge for the first time in years, Patrick hits send.

  
Immediately, it feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He knows it will return, but he relishes the moment while it lasts. Patrick finishes his tea and contentedly looks out the coffee shop’s windows, at all the people hurriedly passing by. His eyes land on the movie theater across the street. There is a showing of The Crows Have Eyes starting in ten minutes. It must be terrible for it to have a matinee this early. He can imagine it already has a bunch of direct to video sequels in the works. Patrick loves terrible B-movies, but Rachel hates horror schlock. Buoyed by the lingering warmth of tea and the buttery muffin sitting comfortably in his belly, Patrick crosses the street and buys a ticket.

  
Patrick is settling into his seat with a giant bucket of popcorn, because why not, when his phone buzzes. It cuts through the haze of feeling full and on the edge of bliss, reminding him that there are responsibilities waiting for him and he shouldn’t be watching a terrible movie. He sits the bucket in the adjacent chair, sliding his phone out and prepping to head back to work.

  
It’s Ray. Describing the job. Assisting businesses and municipal functions. He is asking to see Patrick’s resume and if he would be open to a phone interview.  
What would Rachel say? Would she be willing to move to the middle of nowhere? Granted, they grew up east of nowhere, it really wouldn’t be that big a change from their childhood home. It had become assumed they would remain in Toronto. Maybe a change would help things.

  
He feels like an unbelievable jerk as he sends Ray his resume. As the previews start, he convinces himself that this is a good thing, that they’ll have something to discuss on their date night, and even if she is totally against moving, at least they will be talking.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time the delightfully awful movie is over, Patrick is feeling more guilty about skipping out on work for two hours. When he arrives back at the bank, he is slightly surprised his absence appears to have on entirely unnoticed. There are a few fresh emails, none of them from his boss questioning where he is. Most of them are for a personal development seminar happing next week. Does anyone see him here? Before that question can spiral out into all aspects of his life, his phone is buzzing. Insistent. An actual call.

“Hello, this is Patrick.” He doesn’t recognize the number, but he’s given his to some of his customers, so he typically answers all calls.

“Hello Patrick, this is Ray Butani. We were corresponding this morning?” Ray’s voice is warm and sweet. Sometimes, late at time while eluded him, Patrick had stumbled across city council and neighborhood committee meetings on local access. Based on that, he had assumed all local politicians were pompous blowhards. Ray’s voice had none of the demanding bark he had been imagining.

“Yes, hello Ray! How are you?”

“I am fantastic, Patrick, thank you. I am very impressed with your resume and I know we didn’t set up a time for a call, but I just couldn’t wait. Would you like to set up a time, or could we talk now?”

Patrick looks around, the heads of his colleagues bent over spreadsheets or talking on the phone. He has gone all morning unnoticed, what’s the harm in this?

“Now would actually work, Ray. What would you like to know?”

“Well, I can see from your resume that you are more than qualified for this. I was on our town council and saw an increasing need for local businesses to get some support, so I thought I’d start helping them. Unfortunately, I know plenty about real estate and all of the local statutes, forms, all that fun stuff, but I thought maybe having someone with a business background could help the community even more.”

“That sounds great. What I do now is…great, but I don’t love it. I sort of feel…insignificant. I think I’d like to do more.” Patrick keeps his voice low, not wanting to flirt with disaster more than he already has. No need for anyone to hear this conversation.

“That was actually my concern. What I do, what we could be doing, isn’t exactly significant in the grand scheme of things.”

“You’re helping businesses get started, helping your community grow. That seems pretty significant.” It does. The thought of encouraging fresh young business to grow makes him think disdainfully about all the questions he has answered regarding payroll or tax writes offs for the local chain franchises.

“I’m thinking more of the scale of the area. You are in Toronto now?”

“Yes, for six years now.”

“Would you be comfortable going to a much smaller community?”

“How small?”

“Schitt’s Creek has about 1000 people. The wider area is full of towns about the same size. Hopefully we can cast our net wider and help the greater area grow.”

“I actually came from a pretty small town, and I’ve begun to wonder if a smaller community would be better for me.” Toronto had never felt right. Patrick missed knowing the clerks at his grocery store and recognizing his postal carrier.

“Where are you from?”

“Emerald Glen.”

“The city manager there was Ron Garney.”

“I think so, it’s been a while since I was in the loop back there.”

“I met him several times at our local municipal conferences. I know he retired, and I didn’t meet his replacement before I left the town council.”

“Politicking not your thing?” Patrick hopes to suss out if Ray left office in disgrace. The man’s cheerful demeanor seems to negate any potential ickiness. Ray actually seems like a natural for a small town council.

“It’s not that. I love meeting people. There were just a lot of irons in the fire, and I thought I would be better off focusing my attention on my business.”

“Well, which business, Ray? You have several listed on your website.”

“Oh, yes! There are some that I haven’t put up yet. I know that Christmas tree sales aren’t listed on the site, but those are seasonal. The closet organization should be getting off the ground shortly.”

“You are busy!”

“Yes, that’s why I need your help.”

“It sounds great. It seems like you are working on building a great community.”

“We are. We’re so off the beaten path, it’s the sort of place you have to be lost to find, but it becomes your home without expecting it.” Ray says this with a pureness Patrick can feel radiating from the phone. This man loves his town.

“That’s very philosophical, Ray.”

“It’s the truth. It was a random sequence of events that landed me here fifteen years ago. There are lots of people in town like that.”

“That sounds almost like Hallmark.”

“I know, that was all a little thick. Before I cause diabetes from all this sweetness, why don’t I leave you so I can check with some of your references.”

“Could you…”

Ray interrupts before he can finish the phrase, “I’ll skip your current supervisor. Do you have a partner? Would you be willing to speak with them about the possibility of moving?”

“I will have to talk to my fiancée. It may not be for her.”

“And that’s okay, Patrick. I don’t want to cause any frowns.”

“Oh, I think there are going to be frowns.”

“There always will be. I’m going to let you go, so I can make these calls. We can touch base again in a week, see how things are on your end?”

“That sounds great, Ray.”

“Good luck talking with your fiancée, Patrick.”

“Thank you for reaching out, Ray.”

“I think maybe you needed this, Patrick. You are overqualified and you learned about this opportunity by me searching for you on LinkedIn. That doesn’t happen unless you’re looking for a change.”

“There’s your philosophy again.”

“I’m going to hang up before I make it worse. I will talk with you next week.”

“Thanks, Ray. Talk to you then.”

Patrick knows he should do actual work, especially since half of the day has been frittered away. Instead, he searches Schitt’s Creek. There aren’t many hits, most of them hipster tourists taking pictures with the lewd town sign. He stumbles upon a sparse Wikipedia page, where he learns the town is named for the family that founded it. He is pondering the chicken and egg logic of the town’s name and joke, wondering which came first, when he finds an interesting nugget. 

The town has a famous family in residence. Johnny Rose, owner of Rose Video which happens to be Patrick’s first place of employment, had his fortunes seized by the government when his business manager stopped paying the family’s taxes and absconded to parts unknown. They legally own all the land the town sits on, which is apparently possible? Patrick finds a couple of snarky articles about the family’s fall from grace, tacky pictures of them as they were packing up their mansion, and then nothing. Most of the stories are dated eighteen months ago. Another celebrity entered rehab and the cycle moved on, ignoring the Roses in the squalor they found themselves in.

Is this where he imagined himself ending up, a small town with a name from Mad Magazine that seems to attract poor, unfortunate souls? Patrick’s mind turns Ray’s words over and over, thinking about this town as a place to find one’s self. The Roses had crashed and burned spectacularly to end up in this rural hamlet. Patrick worries that he may be heading into his own disaster as he prepares to discuss this with Rachel. This feels like the last domino in the sequence, wobbling slightly, ready to fall over and bring everything crashing down.


	3. Chapter 3

Deciding that it is well past time for a discussion to happen with Rachel, Patrick shuts down his computer and leaves the bank, no one questioning him as he enters his run-down car that struggles to turn over, but he is quickly on his way to their small apartment.

He remains in the car after it’s parked, going over all permutations of the conversation about to occur. He doesn’t want to walk in there, knowing it will likely unravel everything he has built for the past fifteen years. But it is time.

Patrick quietly unlocks the door and walks into their living room. They furnished it mostly from Ikea, but random furniture has appeared as they have broken up and reconciled over the years. It’s a hodge podge he’s become comfortable with.

“Patrick?” Rachel comes out of the kitchen drying her hands with a towel, and he can see clean dishes in the rack by the sink. The dishes that were an engagement gift from her great aunt who has since died since their wedding has still yet to happen.

“Hey.” He sets his bag down on the couch and quickly walks past her into the bathroom to wash his hands. He tries to ignore the disappointment that shadows her face as he passes without a kiss.

“Did something happen at work?” She sounds concerned, but remains out of view, as if she knows it will happen when they have full eye contact and she doesn’t want this to happen in the bathroom.

“Um, I kind of skipped out on work. I ended up seeing that crows movie. It was awful in all the best ways.” He delays exiting the bathroom, drying each finger with the bordering on ratty hand towels that were also an engagement gift.

“At least I don’t have to see it. What made you decide to go to a movie in the middle of a work day?”

“I couldn’t sit at my desk today. I just wasn’t feeling right.” Rachel is leaning against the wall as he exits the bathroom, chewing her nails in worry. She tentatively looks into his eyes, and quickly turns away. He lightly touches her arm, guiding her into the living room. He sits on the couch, and she follows onto a chair across from him.

“Is everything okay?” She moves from chewing her nails to picking at the upholstery on the chair.

“Well, I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s…always scary, Patrick. Are we talking you’ve been thinking about our wedding date? Or is this going to be like when you were thinking about slowing things down after college?” Rachel’s arms cross as she collapses back into the chair.

The first domino wobbles more, finally tipping over.

“It’s been more of a thinking about pausing things.” This is a far cry from his planned conversation about moving to a smaller community. 

His words are like a black hole, draining all air from the room. A pair of dogs bark at each other from the park below the window, and they can hear their neighbor above vacuuming, the sort of minutiae of the everyday soundscape that Patrick attempts to focus on instead of Rachel’s increasingly panicked breathing.

“I don’t know why you keep doing this Patrick.” Her eyes glisten as her words stutter out. She’s not sobbing the way she did when they broke up in high school, or furious and screaming the way she was when he ended it over winter break while they were in college. They are tears of defeat threatening to spill down her cheeks.

“I…don’t know either. Are you happy, Rachel?”

“I could be.” Her voice is a whisper, unsure.

“You could be? If you’re not happy now, why do you think you’ll be happy if we had a wedding date set, or if we were already married, or if there was a baby in the mix of all of this?”

“You wouldn’t be doing this if we had a baby.”

“Rachel, I don’t think I could ever bring a baby into this.” Patrick had never thought he would say those words. He had begun to believe children would fill the void in his life he, but as soon as he said the words, he knew they were true. How could he bring a baby into a mess like this?

“Why?” She is crying in earnest now, skin splotchy and tear streaked.

“Does this feel right to you? Has any of this ever felt right?” Patrick wants to reach out and take her hand, comfort her, but doesn’t want to fan false hopes for her. Or him.

“I thought so.” She retrieves a wad of tissue from her pocket and wipes some the wetness from her face.

“I think we’ve been really comfortable, but not actually happy, and I can’t be here anymore.” The words tumble out without him really thinking them.

“Where are you going to go? Your parents?” Her voice remains calm. Patrick has fled to his parents many times in the past, the dance steps familiar to them both.

“That’s too comfortable. I need to figure out what makes me happy.”

She takes a wheezy breath, blowing out slowly, tears dripping onto her jeans. “I’m going to leave. I can’t watch you do this. Again.” She slips the ring off her left hand and places it carefully on the coffee table. They stare at each other for a moment, and she briskly rises from the chair and walks out the door, closing it softly behind. The ring sitting on the scuffed wood surface of the coffee table feels final; Rachel will never wear it again.

Patrick remains still for several moments. The barking dogs have moved on and vacuuming has stopped. All he can hear is the echoing silence of his rapidly emptying life. He picks up the ring, examining it, remembering all the hope he had when he bought it and asked Rachel to marry him. He would give anything to feel that way again, but he knows it won’t happen here. It is time to move on. He slips the ring into his pocket and moves into the bedroom.

He quickly throws all of his clothes, a few tchotchkes, and photos into a couple of bags. He digs through the desk by the front door where all bills are kept. The lease was always in Rachel’s name, but the utilities were in his. He pulls out the most recent bills so she can easily find the numbers to call to change the name. In a momentary panic in an already panic filled day, Patrick contemplates putting everything back, his clothes and everything he’s packed. He agreed to pay half of everything. It isn’t fair for him to leave her in the lurch just because he needs something that he can’t even describe. But should he feel shackled to that? Now that he’s said it and admitted it, there is no going back. He has been very unhappy, and the desire to fix that is stronger than his guilt. He has savings set aside for the wedding, he can help pay half of things for the time being if she needs the help. His guilt is assuaged but not completely resolved, though that will have to do for now.

He carries his chargers and laptop with him to work daily, so the only thing left to grab is his guitar. He ensures the case is securely closed, slings it over his shoulder, grabs his bags, and locks the door behind him, sliding the key through the gap under the door. There is no going back.

He has to shuffle his baseball equipment in his trunk to get the bags to fit and places the guitar gingerly into his backseat. He starts the motor and with no destination in mind, begins to drive.

Patrick fishes his phone from his pocket and before he can second guess the decision, he is calling his mother. He would much rather that she hears about this from him and not Rachel, or worse, Rachel’s mother. Emerald Glen can be a toxic stew of gossip, and he doesn’t want his parents learning this from anyone other than him.

“Hello, sweetie. Are you off today?"

“No.” But a call to the bank is really the next order of business.

“Taking a late break?” Concern edges into his mother’s voice.

“Sort of. Rachel and I are done.” Patrick has made this call before, or rolled up at their doorstep and told them in person. The words have a finality this time, the ring pressing in his pocket reminding him that it can’t be patched up this time.

“Sweetie, I’m so sorry.” Disappointment fills his mother’s voice, and he dreads the thought that her voice will sound like this when talking with him from now on.

“It was…past time.” Patrick has no destination in mind currently, and knows he should pull over while on the phone. He needs to be moving, making progress, doing something, so he continues to drive, making turns at random.

“What can we do for you?”

“Nothing right now. I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but I might be leaving for a bit.”

“Patrick. Where are you going?” Her voice becomes hard as steel. He and Rachel have ended things so many times, his mother’s voice had been filled with well-worn concern but this has a sharp edge of panic.

“I don’t know yet. I just need space and time. To figure things out.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.” His voice trembles with his own self-doubt.

“I don’t want you to get hurt. If you need to talk to someone, your father and I…if you need someplace to stay, you should come here.”

“Mom, I promise, I’m as fine as I can be right now. I’m going to just figure some things out. I will stay in touch.”

“Sweetheart, please do. Please at least let us know you’re okay every day, just a check in text. I don’t like this, but you’re an adult and this is what you need to do right now.” The thickness in her voice cracks and Patrick knows she’s crying now.

“Thank you, Mom.”

“You know I love you, Patrick? Your father too?”

“I do, Mom. I love you both too. I will let you know that I’m okay every day, and when there is something new to share, I will.”

“Okay. Just…be safe, sweetheart.”

“I will.”

They disconnect and he knows he can’t continue driving. He pulls into a vacant parking lot and sobs for five minutes. What has he just done? He has torpedoed his life completely with no semblance of a safety net. He hasn’t not had a plan since grade school, when he was certain he’d found a real treasure map and was going to be rich, just like _The Goonies_. It turned out to be a well-worn children’s menu from Long John Silvers, but he had managed to get most of his neighborhood friends involved and had planned on opening a comic book store with the money. Barely eight and he was planning his future.

Now he has nowhere to go. He feels as worn and broken as the store he is parked in front of. A store he would recognize the color of anywhere, the mint green faded from years in the sun. The fuchsia accents remain, although the giant logo that hung over the entrance is long gone. The outline remains, recognizable from his teen years. This is an abandoned Rose Video. He remembered how nervous he was, sitting in his dad’s car before his very first shift. That building had been shiny and new, just like all of the prospects before him. Now it all lay in ruin. Even the family who built this business is done, gone away to the middle of nowhere. A nowhere that he potentially had a job waiting for him.

Summoning the courage he used during his open mic night at Higher Grounds, Patrick searches his phone’s map for Schitt’s Creek and hit navigate. He opens a new email to Ray, saying he is planning on coming to Schitt’s Creek just to check the vibe of the town, and that Ray shouldn’t feel obliged to interview him, he just felt like a drive. After oscillating for five minutes over phrasing, attempting to minimize how pathetic he sounds, he just hit send. His future in this town that he has yet to see may be as real as that map he found under the slide at the playground, but it is the clearest destination he has right now, and somehow, it feels right.


	4. Chapter 4

The directions said the drive should take six hours, but with stops for food and the restroom, plus the occasional panic attack over what he had just done with his life, it is after nine that Patrick finally drives down the main street of Schitt’s Creek. The tiny town is comprised of only a few streets, no actual stoplight that he can see, quaint house with tidily kept lawns, and several empty storefronts. One business, a general store, is clearly recently closed, the going out of business signs still hanging in the window, shelves empty as his headlights pass by. Patrick pulls his car into a spot in front of a restaurant, the lights flipping of inside the building just as he puts his car into park. A couple of men in white kitchen clothes joke as they walk out and a young woman locks the door behind them, folding up her apron as she puts the keys into her pocket. She spies Patrick in his car and walks over.

“Are you here for food? Sorry, it was a slow night so we shut down a little earlier than ten.” She leans down from the curb to talk to Patrick through the passenger window.

“No, that’s alright. I didn’t think I’d make it here tonight, and I had plenty of road snacks.” He gestures to the detritus of empty calories that litter the passenger seat.

“Are you sure? I can open back up real quick. We have some sandwiches in the fridge. They really don’t like me doing anything in the kitchen anymore. I had a set of tarot cards fuse to a griddle. I should have known, the Wheel of Fortune card usually indicates transformation. I just thought we were going to be getting a new busboy.”

Patrick smiles at this overshare, and knowing he should probably be leery of ever coming back to the restaurant, still finds himself wondering what kind of antics happen here. “No, I’m good, but that’s so kind of you to offer.”

She grins and shrugs her shoulders. “What would the world be without kindness? Are you new in town?”

“Sort of. I’m just here to meet with Ray?” Patrick is unsure how involved this man is with the town. He was on town council, but the people here may not be invested civically.

“Ray! Oh, Ray’s great! Is he expecting you tonight?”

“No, I thought I’d stop along the way and get here tomorrow, but every exit felt like I could go just a bit longer, so I’m here early and basically unexpected.” Despite driving for hours, Patrick feels remarkably alert. He knows from late night studying in college that a surge of pep always courses through him before he crashes for the night, and the euphoria of arriving in town will soon give way to utter exhaustion.

“Welcome anyhow, early, late, just glad you made it. I’m Twyla, this is the café.” She gestures to the building graced with neon palm tree signs next to the name Café Tropical.

“Hello Twyla, I’m Patrick.”

“Are you sure you don’t need some food, Patrick? I could make you a smoothie, add some vitamins to all this…not vitamined food you’ve been eating.”

“I promise I’m good.” Patrick self-consciously starts gathering up the junk food wrappers that cover the passenger seat of his car, cramming them into a small plastic bag.

“Well come by tomorrow, then. I’m sure Ray will bring you by. He usually brings new clients and business folks in.”

“I’m sure he will. Even if he doesn’t, I’ll be sure to come by, balance out my vitamin intake.”

“Great! I will see you tomorrow. Did you pass the motel on your way in?”

“I didn’t, I came from this way, the south.” Patrick points to the south down the road he had come in on.

“It’s just a couple blocks down this way,” she says pointing down the road the café sits on. “They usually have vacancies. Stevie isn’t always there late. You want me to call her? I can probably get you a key and she can get payment from you in the morning.” Twyla doesn’t wait for a response, fishing her phone from her apron and dialing. She turns away as her conversation begins.

A soft smile creeps across Patrick’s face, the thought of this stranger going out of her way as she’s leaving work to help him. The panic that has been clenching his chest eases, more a rhinoceros sitting on his heart and less an elephant.

“Alrighty Patrick. Stevie is still at the motel, I guess some plans fell through so she’s in a bit of a mood. Don’t take it personal, it’s sort of a sign of affection if she’s mean to you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the warning.”

“I did discover in high school that if you cry, she usually stops. Not always. My second stepdad had just gone to prison, so maybe she actually felt pity for me.” She cocks her head at the memory, questioning her own recollection.

“I will keep my fingers crossed that she’s mean, then? I’ve got some memories of my dog dying on deck if I need the tears.”

“You’re set! You know where you’re going?” The smile returns to Twyla’s face, the fleeting memory of her past misery evaporated, content in the cheerful present.

“I do. This way.” Patrick points the direction he will be going.

“You’ve got it.”

“Thank you for your help, Twyla.”

“No problem!”

Twyla continues on her way down the sidewalk and Patrick gets his car turned around. The motel quickly appears on his right, the red neon sign giving the vacant lot an otherworldly glow, the lone Lincoln simmering away like a rotisserie chicken that had been ignored all day under a heat lamp.

He parks in front of the office, the hum of the neon buzzing deep in his skull as he walks from the car through the door. Brassy fixtures and ratty furniture fill the small office. A sullen looking woman swathed in plaid continues to click away on her computer.

“Were you sent by Twyla?” Her eyes don’t leave the monitor.

Patrick approaches the heavily lacquered counter, leaning casually against it. Getting nothing more in the way of a welcome from the woman at the computer, he reaches out to touch the ancient looking bell sitting on the surface, realizing that it’s solid bronze and purely ornamental.

“I am.”

“You need a room?” She continues playing solitaire on the computer, resolutely not making eye contact.

“It does look like you’re bursting at the seams here from the state of the parking lot out there. You missed a king.” He points out the king of diamonds in the right most column of her solitaire spread.

“I left him there for reasons beyond your comprehension.” She still makes use of the king and continues to play.

“Of course. Keep the head of state in a prominent position, keep the proletariat appeased.”

“These plebs are properly pleased. Time for the guillotine. So Twyla just found you by the side of the road?”

“Not fully abandoned and forgotten about. I had parked my car.”

“Semi-abandoned.” Her voice remains completely devoid of emotion.

“Exactly. She took pity on me there. Offered to reopen her restaurant, called you to make sure you were still here. Who does that?” Patrick has barely had time to reflect upon that question himself. Twyla could have continued on her stroll home, surely exhausted after a long day, but she stopped to ask if he needed anything. It feels like the first time someone had checked on how he was doing in years. Sometimes being low maintenance emotionally and socially left Patrick feeling ignored and unseen.

Her eyes don’t leave the monitor, but they do shift from the digital cards, processing the question herself. “Good people, I guess. I don’t get it. Only when buzzards started to circle would I have checked.” Her eyes dart back to the cards, clicking the last ace before she starts moving the rest into place for the end.

Patrick grins at her disdain for Twyla’s kindness, suspecting it may be more complimentary than it sounds. Before he can antagonize her more about Twyla’s gesture, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

“Give me a second.”

“Twyla checking on you?”

“Circle gets the square.” He exits the office into the buzzing red hued night to answer the phone.

“Hello Patrick? This is Ray. Are you still driving?”

“No, I just got into town.” He lightly sits on the hood of his car, gazing at the row of numbered doors stretching to his right and left.

“Sorry my timing was off. I was guessing you’d be getting into town just now. You must have needed one fewer bathroom break than I usually do when I’m coming from Toronto.”

Patrick feels a soft glow roll over his body at Ray’s forethought. “That is very kind of you.”

“I wanted to call earlier, but I didn’t want you driving distracted and I was guessing you wouldn’t be checking email while you were on the road. Did you find the motel?”

“I did. I’m here now. I’ve sort of met the lady at the desk. I don’t think we’ve really made eye contact.”

“That may be for the best, she may see that as a challenge to her dominance. I kid, Stevie’s great, but I am surprised she’s there. Things must be off with Jake.” 

The fame of this plaid clad woman seems to have a far reach. That is some powerful snark, and the more cherubic shadow of Patrick’s past who only wanted to befriend the feral orange cat that ruled the playground at his neighborhood park desires only to see her smile. Of course, he also has to contend with his potential new boss apparently being the town gossip. “Do you know everyone with this amount of detail?”

“Yes, but no. I hear things, and with so few people to hear things about, I tend to retain them. If that hasn’t creeped you out too much, why don’t you come and stay here. I have an extra room for rent that no one is using currently. I wanted to offer it to you since you drove all the way here. I was going to call once I read you were coming, but I didn’t want to distract you. Then we could have waited until tomorrow to reveal I know the salacious details of everyone in town.”

“That would make you the best person to talk to, learn who to avoid.”

“There is no one I would truly say to avoid, but there are some pearls in the creek shinier than others.”

“That is…I can’t decide if it’s awful or amazing.”

“My humor tends to fall in that sweet spot. I was trying to get to Islands in the Stream, but couldn’t make creek work.”

“You gonna keep workshopping that one?”

“I plan to, yes. Shall I turn the bed down? I do this for any one coming this far in. You could ask Stevie, she knows because I’ve tried to get her to spruce up the motel to get some more quality hires, but finally gave up and let people stay here. I know it’s a hassle of a drive, but I do appreciate that you came to get a feeling of the town; it’s more personal than a video conference. Come over, you’ll want to take a left out of the motel’s lot, then it will be your next left, and I’m the third house on the right. I have the porch light on and my face is on the sign in the yard.”

“I’ve actually seen your face on signs in several places around town.” If Patrick hadn’t known that Ray had recently vacated a seat on the town council, he would have assumed he was running for office of some kind based on his face appearing in lawns all over town.

“This is the only one I don’t have teeth blacked out. I need to get more printed to replace the vandalized ones. I was hoping to add business consulting as a service before having more made. Come, we’ll talk about it.”

Despite his mother’s voice ringing in his head, warning against candy and strangers, Patrick has a good feeling about Ray. “I’m on my way.”

“I’ll be here.”

Patrick sticks his head back into the motel’s office. “Hey, Ray’s going to put me up at his place.”

“Smaller chance of bedbugs there. You’re making the right choice.”

“They could have kept my lice company. Sorry if I kept you here longer than you wanted.”

“These kings aren’t going to find themselves. While you’re enjoying Ray’s fully functional kitchen tomorrow morning, remember you could have had burnt coffee and directions to the café for breakfast if you had stayed here.”

“Aw, you’re making me feel at home.”

“That’s what we strive for here.”

“Good luck with those kings.”

With barely a grunt for response, Patrick departs for Ray’s.


	5. Chapter 5

Patrick’s first knock on the door is hesitant, but grows louder with each rap of his knuckles. The door opens immediately. They have never met, but Patrick has seen Ray’s face emblazoned on signs around town so it’s not a complete stranger standing there in a fuzzy robe with ducks in flight and a steaming mug in his hand.

“Patrick! Welcome, come in.” Ray welcomes Patrick into a very full living room that has been converted into workspace. What looks like a photo studio has been set up next to the stairs and an overflowing desk is nestled in the former dining room, overseen by a large cactus statue. Photos of real estate properties, engagement photos, and Ray himself superimposed in a volcano incongruously share wall space.

“This is my office. You can just come through here to the kitchen and den. It’s where I spend most of my non-work time. Come in, set your things down.” Ray sees Patrick isn’t carrying anything, he’s just standing there with fists shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

“Decided to see if I was a homicidal maniac before carrying in your luggage? Smart move, Patrick. Do you want to send a photo of me to your next of kin, let them know who to hunt down in the event of your disappearance?”

“That is actually not a bad idea. I need to let my mom know I’m alright and not on the road anymore.”

“Just your mom?”

“For now, yeah.”

“She’s not going to be concerned that I’m holding you hostage, is she?”

“I don’t think so. You look too chipper to do anything as malicious as taking someone hostage.”

“I did once secure a listing by cornering the customer in the produce section at Brebner’s. That’s as close to a hostage crisis as I’ve ever been in.”

“That sounds about right. You want to smile?” Patrick holds up his phone to take Ray’s photo, texting it to his mom.

“I’m in for a lecture about candy and strangers I think.”

“I still get those from my parents. I think the distance makes it even worse. Sleepytime tea?” Ray moves into the kitchen and gestures for Patrick to sit on a stool at the counter.

“That would be great. How far away are you from your parents?” Patrick overthinks a text message, typing and retyping multiple times, debating how much of an update to send to his parents.

“Most of them are in Vancouver now, but grew up in Winnipeg so there are some cousins still there. I made it the furthest east.” Ray retrieves the box of tea bags from the cupboard over the stove where steam still spouts from a kettle. The tea bag and water are in a mug with Ray’s beaming face on the side with quick efficiency.

Ray notices Patrick focusing on the mug and must feel self-conscious. “I got them as samples with I started with photography. I’m not so vain that I need my face on my coffee mugs.”

Patrick’s fingers go cold as he finalizes his message to his mother about his location with Ray’s picture attached. He closes the phone instead of hitting send, placing it on the counter as he grasps the steaming mug to warm his hands.

“Thank you, Ray. For all of this.” He sips the minty tea, forcing himself to relax and ignore the panicked palpitations in his heart whenever his mind settles on Rachel, or his job, or where he was going to live.

“Like I said earlier, it seemed like you needed something. A change, just to move for a bit. I know the feeling. I was stuck, needed to move, that’s how I left Winnipeg behind.”

“Did some kind person reach out from the void to help you as well?”

“I did have a job secured in Elmdale before I actually packed my bags, but I would have been leaving if that hadn’t happened. When it’s time to move on, it’s time to move on. And sometimes where you’re supposed to be isn’t where you first land. A butterfly could flap its wings and you move on to another town that feels better. I didn’t actually intend to live here. Did you see the town sign? I only lived here because it was cheaper, then I got to know people, and recognized the real estate market here isn’t as good as Elmdale, but that means I’m able to try my hand at other things I’ve always wanted to. Photography. Closet organizing. Things that feel right for me.”

Patrick focuses on the eddies in his tea as he swirls his mug, trying to prevent the tears stinging his eyes from pouring down his face. Ray seemed to get it. Not necessarily every aspect of the situation, but certainly the rut Patrick had been in for years was apparent to this newly found friend.

Ray politely ignores Patrick’s surge of emotions. “I’m sorry, I started philosophizing again. Did you have bags you wanted to bring in? Also, didn’t you mention a fiancée? Are you getting the lay of the land first before you commit to a move?”

Patrick’s guilt over leaving Rachel surges. He sips more tea, hoping it will calm his stomach. “I’m sort of committed to this path for the moment. That relationship actually just ended. I realized I was unhappy with everything so decided on a fresh start.”

Concern blossoms on Ray’s face, saddening in a way Patrick’s mother’s surely had. “I’m sorry to hear that. I feel like you need a hug. I have a nephew who doesn’t like people to touch him and I understand that I am a stranger to you, but a hug may make you feel better.”

“Okay.” Patrick sniffles, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, rising from his chair, reflexively moving the empty mug so it isn’t knocked off the counter. Ray comes around the island and wraps him in a tight hug.

“I hope this is the right fit for you, Patrick. You are a good person and you deserve to be in a job and town that makes you happy.”

Ray’s kind words make Patrick weep. The day, leaving Rachel, moving without a clear plan, it all causes him to start sobbing. The shame of breaking down in front of a stranger magnifies the feelings and the instinct to hold in his tears makes it worse. “I’m not a good person,” Patrick mutters into Ray’s shoulder.

Ray pulls away, trying to catch Patrick’s eyes but they are swollen with tears, and he pulls him back warmly. “You are, Patrick. I actually called some of your clients from the bank, and they told me how above and beyond you always worked for them, even on something as small as trivial government forms.”

“But I just left Rachel. With all of the bills and barely any explanation. That isn’t something a good person does.”

Ray starts to lightly pat his back, comforting him in the way his mother would after his friends had been mean to him or he’d failed a test. “It wasn’t nice, but in the long run, it is a good thing. Maybe time will bring you back together and you will be in a better place to be the person you both need you to be.”

“We were going to get married. I can’t believe I did this, just leaving.”

Ray gently breaks the hug and looks Patrick right in his watery eyes. “Patrick, you are exhausted. You have been through a lot today, and then you drove all the way here, and the emotions of everything are starting to catch up with you. Let’s get your bags. You are going to stay in the spare bedroom and get some sleep.”

Patrick gives a cursory attempt at wiping his face, but knowing his fair skin retains signs of crying for hours after, he gives up. Patrick runs and grabs his overnight bag and guitar case from his car. Ray shows him to the cozy guest room and shows him where the clean towels are in the bathroom. Ray sets off for bed with a final comforting squeeze on Patrick’s shoulder.

Patrick sets about readying for sleep, fearing it won’t come for hours despite the heaviness of his eyes. He plugs his phone in, although he ponders letting it die, thinking it would be better if he doesn’t have constant reminders that he has disappointed people and that he could quickly text that he’s going to return and be on his way back. He realizes he never sent the message with Ray’s picture to his mother, so he quickly hits send and silences it completely.

He leaves the phone charging and buries himself under the quilts on the bed, the weight making it hard to move so he won’t be tempted to check for a response. Despite the guilt racing through him and the long tradition of not being able to sleep while travelling, Patrick is asleep immediately.


End file.
